"Just a hundred of the best,
and I'll put you where all the police in London won't find you for the
rest of today, and get you out of it at night in such a fashion that
you'll be as safe as if you was at home. You won't never see your home in
Japan, again, mister, if you don't depend on yours truly! And a hundred
ain't nothing--considering what you've got at stake."
"I haven't a hundred pounds to give you," answered Yada. "I have scarcely
any money but this cheque."
"In course you ain't, mister!" agreed Melky. "I twigged your game straight
off--you only came there to the police-station to put yourself in funds
for your journey! But that's all right!--you come along of me, and let me
put you in safety--then you give me that cheque--I'll get it cashed in ten
minutes without going to any banks--see? Friend o' mine hereabouts--he'll
cash it at his bank close by--anybody'll cash a cheque o' Levendale's.
Come on, now, mister. We're close to that little port o' refuge I'm
telling you about."
The bluff was going down--Melky felt, as much as saw, that Yada was
swallowing it in buckets. And he slipped his hand within his companion's
arm, piloted him along the street, across Praed Street, round the back of
the houses into the narrow passage which communicated with the rear of the
late Daniel Multenius's premises, and in at the little door which opened
on the parlour wherein so many events had recently taken place.
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